


Amortentia

by AccidentalAvenger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAvenger/pseuds/AccidentalAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Amortentia's strangest aspect is its scent. For each person it is different - expressing their heart's desire. All of you should come closer to smell it properly and try to figure out what the scent means to you."</p><p>The class gathered round the cauldron and there were several theatrical sniffs and a lot of giggling from many people.  Grantaire gently elbowed him. <br/>"What does it smell like for you?" he asked teasingly, "Social justice? True gender equality? Oh wait, no - Patria?" </p><p>Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned back to the cauldron, sniffing slightly. There was nothing. He could smell Grantaire's distinctive smell of oil paint and apple shampoo beside him and the sickly-sweet perfume of the girl the other side of him. But there was nothing new, nothing that could indicate what he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amortentia

"Today we will be making Amortentia," announced Professor Javert in a bored tone. 

There was a lot of giggling from several people in the class but Enjolras scowled and folded his arms. Grantaire, who was stood beside him, gave a quiet laugh.   
"Calm down, Apollo," he murmured to Enjolras, gently elbowing him. The smell of apple shampoo was overwhelming as he leant into whisper, "It's harmless."  
"It isn't harmless," Enjolras hissed, "It takes away someone's ability to consent. Love potions should be banned - they're as bad as your muggle date-rape drugs."   
Grantaire snorted, "But the person gives a clear, enthusiastic 'yes' at the time. That's not rape. That's consent."  
Enjolras spun round and glared at Grantaire who's uniform was paint stained as always.  
"The person doesn't have a choice," he argued, "The rational part of the brain which could make that decision is essentially removed. Do you think it's alright to force someone into loving you?"   
"Of course not, Apollo. Otherwise-"

Grantaire was cut off by Professor Javert's cold tone.   
"Mr Grantaire, Mr Enjolras. Would you like tell the class what you're talking about?"  
Grantaire murmured a no but Enjolras tilted his chin and nodded.   
"We were discussing if a love potion counted as consent," he announced and Javert gave a sigh. 

"Now is not the time - you're in class," he told the pair sternly. Enjolras flushed with anger.

"Now is the perfect time. You teach us about how to make a love potion but you never even mention the dangers and the issues with it. Sex under the influence of a love potion is practically rape - yet that's not a point worthy of raising in class?" 

Professor Javert crossed his arms, his expression dark, and Grantaire let out a long suffering sigh. 

"Seriously Enjolras?" he muttered, "Again?"

"You do not get to dictate what I teach. I want an essay on the variety of different love potions and their varying strengths and effects on my desk by tomorrow. If we could return to the lesson-" 

He was cut off by Grantaire who had raised his hand and tilted his head cockily. 

"Enjolras has got a point, sir," he started, the word 'sir' dripping with fake respect, "I mean - love potions and consensual rights are currently part of a serious debate going on in the Ministry of Magic. If Lemarque's proposition goes through then powerful love potions will be considered as a form of mind-control magic and could be highly illegal. Shouldn't you at least be warning us - even if it wouldn't make any difference?" 

 

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire, surprised that he knew so much about the issues and surprised he would bother standing up for Enjolras. Javert's mouth tightened. "Detention, Mr Grantaire - for trying to dictate what I teach in my lessons."

Grantaire sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Report to my office at 6 o'clock tomorrow," Javert snapped before turning back to the class, "Amortentia's strangest aspect is its scent. For each person it is different - expressing their heart's desire. All of you should come closer to smell it properly and try to figure out what the scent means to you."

The class gathered round the cauldron and there were several theatrical sniffs and a lot of giggling from many people. Several students went bright red and one girl burst into tears, muttering something about her Grandmother's cooking. Enjolras barely had time to feel a burst of sympathy for her before Grantaire gently elbowed him. 

"What does it smell like for you?" he asked teasingly, "Social justice? True gender equality? Oh wait, no - Patria?" 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned back to the cauldron, sniffing slightly. There was nothing. He could smell Grantaire's distinctive smell of oil paint and apple shampoo beside him and the sickly-sweet perfume of the girl the other side of him. But there was nothing new, nothing that could indicate what he wanted. He flushed and snapped at Grantaire, "What does it smell like for you? Fire whiskey?"

Grantaire looked away and muttered something. Enjolras grimaced guiltily. He had been out of line - that was clear. His shaky friendship with Grantaire was tentative enough without him being purposely cruel. 

Grantaire was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the lesson. Their potion turned out to be the best in the class, much to Javert's annoyance but at the end Grantaire slipped away without a word. Enjolras bit his lip but pushed any guilt away and went to write his essay on love potions, making sure the essay's tone was scathing but respectful.

\------

"Professor Javert?" said Enjolras, pushing the heavy wooden door to the potions classroom open. It was empty; Professor Javert was not there. Enjolras sighed in disappointment but walked in anyway, heading towards the large, ornate desk at the front. 

He set his potions essay down on the desk and turned to leave. As he strode out he passed the potions bench on which sat a familiar large cauldron which was billowing clouds of white steam. Giving into his curiosity, Enjolras stopped by it to see what potion it was. 

The distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen told him it was Amortentia and he sniffed it in distaste. Then he stopped and sniffed again. 

It smelt of oil paint, apple shampoo and butterbeer. As soon as Enjolras registered this his head jerked up and he glanced around quickly, expecting to see Grantaire at his shoulder sniggering. The room was still empty. Grantaire was still up in the hall where Enjolras had left his friends, of course. Confused, he turned back to the potion and sniffed again. Underlying the familiar smell of Grantaire he caught the faintest wisp of hand gel, flowers, old books and the ridiculous muggle cologne Courfeyrac insisted on wearing. It wasn't an unpleasant smell at all. No, it was what it smelt like to be surrounded by his friends; Joly encouraging them to use the hand gel he carried round with them, Jehan sitting beside him with flowers draped in their hair, Combeferre sitting opposite him buried in a huge old library book with Courfeyrac leaning towards him and Grantaire sitting beside him. Grantaire's smell was overwhelming, like he had his arms around Enjolras. 

Closing his eyes, he could even picture it. Sitting with all his friends in the great hall, listening to Bahorel telling a stupid story. He could lean back against Grantaire and breath in the familiar, warm smells. Grantaire could wrap an arm around his shoulders and it would be nice. Comfortable, safe and- oh. 

Enjolras opened his eyes as he realized what the smell meant. He was in love with Grantaire. He couldn't deny it to himself now, not with the scent of the Amortentia becoming more and more obvious. Fuck. He sent one last panicked look towards the cauldron before turning away and rushing out of the classroom. 

\------- 

Enjolras felt sick. He had arrived outside the potions classroom at 6:45 and sat down on the cold stone bench opposite the door but got up to leave twice. He'd come back both times but now, as the clock approached 7:00, he was pacing the floor anxiously. It was stupid; he'd never acted this way about seeing Grantaire before. He should be calm and explain the situation to Grantaire - if the other boy didn't return his feeling then that was fine. Fine. Totally, 100% fine. Enjolras could deal with rejection; he was mature enough, wasn't he?

Okay, maybe not. 

Enjolras turned to go, feeling sick as he realised he could not deal with Grantaire turning him down when the door to the potions classroom creaked open to reveal an exhausted looking Grantaire who was scowling as he strode into the corridor, letting the door slam shut behind him. He spotted Enjolras standing there and stopped, blinking in confusion.

"Hey?" he asked cautiously, squinting his eyes at Enjolras as if surprised to see the other boy there.   
"Hey," replies Enjolras a little breathlessly. Grantaire glances behind him and quickly around the corridor before looking back at Enjolras, confusion plain on his face. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks cautiously.  
"I came to walk you to dinner," Enjolras said, twisting his hands in his robes and biting his lip. Grantaire stared at him, his face blank. Enjolras realised suddenly that Grantaire had lovely eyes, despite the suspicion in them.

“Why?" he eventually asked. Enjolras shrugged, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his chest. It annoyed him; he never was like this around Grantaire before. Grantaire frustrated him, yes, but didn't make him act like an infatuated fool. Still, that's how he was acting. He just couldn't help it. 

"No reason," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "I just figured that since you're in detention because of me that I should - you know." He trailed off, internally cursing the writhing pit of snakes in his stomach. The well planned speech, eloquently expressing his feelings towards Grantaire, was gone; replaced by stuttering and stumbling. Enjolras was ninety percent sure he was bright red. 

 

"Okay," said Grantaire, squinting at him, "I wasn't planning on eating but yeah, we can go to the hall if you want."  
"You should eat," Enjolras told him seriously, "It's important to get the right nutrients and stay healthy."  
Grantaire snorted. "You sound like Joly or Combeferre when they're being mother hens."   
"Yeah I suppose so," Enjolras said, giving a shy smile, "It rubs off on you."  
"Tell me about it," Grantaire agreed, the suspicion slipping away, "I actually caught myself explaining what evolution was to some stuck up sixth year the other day. If it continues I'm going to lose my reputation as an apathetic drunken idiot."

"You're not an apathetic drunken idiot, R," Enjolras said gently, realising that he was the one who called Grantaire that, during a passionate argument a few weeks before. It felt like a punch to the stomach and there was a sour taste in his mouth. He would do anything to take the words back but he couldn't. 

"Excuse you," scoffed Grantaire, "I work very hard to keep up my reputation. Don't go spreading slander like that." He walked over to Enjolras, purposefully ducking his head so that his curls fell across his face. Enjolras couldn't help but stare in awe. He wanted to run his hands through Grantaire's hair, to check if it's as soft as it looks but he clutched at his robe and began walking beside the other boy.

They were silent for a while, not quite knowing what to say to one another. Enjolras cursed himself internally. Of course it wasn't a good idea, just turn up and admit he was in love with Grantaire. They barely knew each other; most of their conversations turned into fights. 

"So, are you going home for Christmas?" he asked stiffly. Grantaire gave a bitter laugh.  
"Not a chance. I don't really get along with my parents so I avoid spending time with them whenever I can."  
"I know what you mean," Enjolras agreed, thinking of his uptight, pure blood family and how he couldn't spend an hour in the same room without it turning into a screaming match. They hated him and his friends; they hated his ideas and the whole family had agreed years ago that the more time spent apart, the better.  
"Seriously?" Grantaire asked with a frown, "I thought that you had rich parents, all high up and everything."  
"I do. But they're prejudiced and elitist and everything I'm against. 'We don't get along' is an understatement."

"Wow, trying to undermine your parent's lifestyle is a pretty big thing to do." The comment is sarcastic but there's grudging respect in Grantaire's voice.  
"It is! Everyone who's high up in the Ministry has the same anti-muggle views, apart from Mrs Granger and her team, obviously. It's nearly impossible to change anything when the people in power are determined not to! You have to get other people up there; educate them so then there's enough opposing influence."

"So even you have to admit defeat when it comes to changing the views of the old Slytherin families?" Grantaire teased.  
"Not completely. I changed, didn't I? Up until meeting Combeferre and Courfeyrac I was like my parents."  
"What, so you came back from school having done a complete 180 in your ideas? That must have scared your parents shitless."  
"It did," said Enjolras darkly and Grantaire laughed. Enjolras could feel himself go red; it was such a nice sound.

"So what's your favourite colour?" he asked quickly, in a half-assed to forget the way the laugh made him feel.  
"Green," Grantaire replied without hesitation, "A dark green- foresty. What's yours?"  
"Red," Enjolras said, equally as quickly.  
"Maybe we should swap ties - always thought I would look better in the Slytherin colours," Grantaire said with a smile. Enjolras' breath caught in his throat as his mind raced through all situations where they might end up swapping ties.  
"It would bring out your eyes," he commented absent-mindedly, his mind still skimming through the many not completely PG scenes.

Grantaire stopped suddenly. It took Enjolras another few steps before he realised and turned to face Grantaire who was looking at him with a pained expression.

"You can't say stuff like that Enjolras," he said, sounding tired. Enjolras' stomach sunk as he realised the implications of Grantaire's comment.  
"Why not?" Enjolras asked shakily, trying to ignore the feeling of dread spreading through him. Grantaire hated him; there were boundaries between them for a reason.   
"Because- oh, you know," Grantaire sounded hurt, "We're barely friends and I- You just can't say stuff like that Enjolras. It's not fair on me."

"I want to be friends," insisted Enjolras, still not understanding what Grantaire was getting at. Courfeyrac was just friends with a lot of people but he still made similar comments almost constantly. In fact, Enjolras had heard Courfeyrac telling Grantaire how he should keep his hair out of his eyes that morning.   
"So do I," Grantaire said, "But I can't be your friend when I have - well, you know. You can't not know."   
"I don't know!" exclaimed Enjolras, feeling frustrated, "Stop saying I do because I don't get why we can't even be friends." His voice caught on the last few words and he swallowed hard, looking away from Grantaire's broken expression. 

"I can't believe you're making me say this," Grantaire chocked out, "I have feelings for you, Enjolras. That's why I can't be 'just friends' with you."  
"Oh," said Enjolras, looking up surprised and relieved, "Good. I have feelings for you too."

Grantaire winced. "Romantic feelings," he spat out, "I meant I'm stupidly infatuated with you, not that I have emotions towards you."  
"Yes Grantaire, I do know that when someone says 'feelings' they don't just mean general emotions," Enjolras replied shortly, feeling a burst of annoyance.

Grantaire blinked at him, frowning deeper.  
"Wait, so when you said that you have feelings for me too, you meant-?" 

Enjolras growled and surged forwards, pressing his lips to Grantaire's. It was a quick kiss, Enjolras barely leaving enough time for Grantaire to respond. As he drew back he noticed that Grantaire's eyes had fluttered shut. 

"Clear enough?" he asked, feeling a little breathless. Grantaire laughed quietly and nodded.  
"So did someone slip you a love potion or something?" he asked doubtfully. Enjolras rolled his eyes.  
"No, if you paid attention in class then you would know that I would probably have jumped you immediately if I was under the influence of a love potion."  
“Yeah, I know. I did hear that. It's just a bit sudden? And inexplicable?" Grantaire said, refusing to make eye contact with Enjolras.

"This may come as a surprise to you but I do actually feel emotion so it's not that inexplicable," Enjolras snapped, feeling irritated as he remembered all the times that Grantaire had called him a marble statue. He noticed the way Grantaire winced at the words and softened his tone. "It's sudden for me as well. I just wanted to tell you."  
"That wasn't the inexplicable part - I know you have emotion; I've seen you with Combeferre and Courfeyrac," Grantaire said bitterly "It's just -" 

There was a faint singing from down the corridor and they both froze.   
"Crap, Peeves," breathed Grantaire and Enjolras nodded in panicked agreement, glancing around the corridor.  
"Quick, in here," he said, tugging Grantaire behind him as he threw open the nearest door, "Before he sees us." 

Enjolras caught a glimpse of the poltergeist rounding the corridor, singing loudly to himself just as the door slammed shut. It was pitch black and extremely cramped. Enjolras was pressed up against Grantaire, chest to chest and breaths mixing.

"You dragged me into a broom cupboard?" Grantaire asked in disbelief, "How cliché can you get? Seriously, if you had wanted to make out with me in small dark spaces you could have just asked."   
His voice had slipped back to the teasing casual lilt that it usually carried but Enjolras could hear the slight shake and feel the tense way Grantaire was standing. 

"I'll remember that in future," he said, feeling slightly breathless at the idea of kissing Grantaire in a cramped space. Grantaire's breath caught in his throat. "What were you saying - 'It's just?'"   
"It doesn't matter," Grantaire said quickly, leaning away from Enjolras, "We should keep quiet so Peeves doesn't hear us. God knows what would happen if he found us canoodling in a broom cupboard."

Enjolras sighed and pulled his wand out, his hand brushing against Grantaire’s as he did.   
"Muffliato," he muttered and felt the slight rush of energy. Pocketing his wand he looked up at Grantaire, only just able to make out his face in the darkness and said, "There. Problem solved. So what were you saying?"  
"Enjolras, it doesn't matter," Grantaire told him forceful, sounding pained.  
"Of course it matters!" Enjolras argued, "Why is it so inexplicable that I would have feelings for you?" 

There was a long pause but finally Grantaire snapped, "Because I'm not a very likeable person, okay? I don't see how someone as amazing as you could be disillusioned into thinking you like me."  
"I'm not disillusioned!" Enjolras protested and then stopped. 

"Grantaire, there are a thousand reasons I like you," he said eventually, "You're funny, smart, kind. You know the castle better than anyone I've ever met and you're talented."   
"I'm not. I'm rubbish and I'm probably going to fail most of my OWLs," Grantaire said weakly and Enjolras shook his head defiantly. 

"No you're not. You're amazing and OWLs are not an indication of that."  
"God Enjolras, you could do a thousand times better," Grantaire told him but there's defeat in his voice.  
"I don't want to do an thousand times better. You're the best."  
"This could fall apart dramatically. We argue all the time and we're so different, it might not work."  
"I'm willing to take that risk. Are you?"   
Grantaire gave an unsteady laugh. "Yeah okay. I'm not sure what's come over you but alright. Let's give this - whatever 'this' is - a shot."

"Good," Enjolras said firmly and reached up to press a kiss to the other boys lips. He missed, catching his cheek instead.   
"No, I'm not going to have our first kiss in a broom cupboard," Grantaire said firmly.  
"You said you were up for making out in small dark spaces," Enjolras pointed out petulantly. Grantaire laughed then stopped.

"Wait, you're actually happy to do that?"  
"Yes."  
"Holy shit, I did not expect that from you. Take me to dinner first. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly."  
"Hogsmeade visits aren't till next week," Enjolras said, "I want to kiss you before then."  
"Are you sure someone didn't slip you a love potion?" Grantaire asked. Enjolras made a frustrated noise. "Okay, okay. We can kiss but making out in broom closets has to wait till after the first date."

"Fine," Enjolras agreed, feeling slightly disappointed, and grabbed Grantaire's hand and opened the cupboard door. The pair stumbled into the now-empty corridor, covered in dust.   
"If we're going to eat we should get going," Grantaire said, dropping Enjolras' hand like it was hot. Enjolras felt a burst of disappointment and confusion.   
"Alright," he said reluctantly, watching Grantaire brush himself down.  
"Also: are we going to tell our friends?" Grantaire asked, "I mean - do you want to?"  
"Yes," Enjolras said without hesitation, "We don't have anything to hide."

Grantaire frowned at him but shrugged and looked away.   
"Alright. If you're sure you want them to know that we have a thing then we can tell them," Grantaire said, sounding unsure.  
"Unless you don't want to," Enjolras amended quickly and Grantaire gave a sigh of relief.  
"Can we wait a bit? Maybe a couple of weeks - just in case this doesn't work."  
"Alright," Enjolras agreed, feeling a bit disappointed, "If that makes you happy."

Grantaire gave him a small quick smile and Enjolras couldn't help himself. 

He stepped forward and gently kissed Grantaire. He tasted like butterbeer and smelt familiar and warm. Grantaire gave out a slight gasp before kissing him back. It was hard, but eventually Enjolras pulled away. Grantaire stared at him, looking slightly dazed. 

"We better go," Enjolras said and began walking. Grantaire followed him looking affronted.   
"There are going to have to be some rules; rule number one is don't kiss me like that just before we have to see our friends. I'll end up having a heart attack and that will be very awkward to explain."   
"Kiss you like what?" Enjolras asked, smiling cheekily, "Like this?" 

He grabbed Grantaire's jumper and pulled him towards him, kissing him firmly. His arms slid round Grantaire’s neck and one hand tangled in his curly dark hair which was just as soft as Enjolras imagined. Grantaire made a noise of surprise but didn't pull away, dropping his hands to Enjolras' hips. 

When they eventually separated , they were both breathing hard and Grantaire’s eyes were glazed and his lips red.

"You know what? Fuck dinner," he said breathlessly, "And fuck dinner dates as well." 

He grabbed Enjolras' hand and pulled him back towards the broom cupboard. Enjolras followed him with a smile.


End file.
